Boundin'
by dragonmactir
Summary: When Juliet gets the seven-year itch six years early she finds herself unaccountably hot and bothered for a blue-eyed police official. Emerging LASSIET
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T for the moment

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter One: Your Cheatin' Heart**

It was the reaction from hours of restrained terror that made Juliet O'Hara collapse into her partner's arms, weeping, after she was rescued from certain death at the top of the courthouse clock tower. What she felt as she sobbed against his chest, however, was sheer relief and even a degree of comfort. Until she felt his arms encircling her shoulders she hadn't really felt _safe_, even though they'd pulled her off the ledge quite some time before. But Carlton was as solid as a brick wall, and he anchored her there on the roof while the rising sun brought light to banish the unnatural darkness that had descended over Santa Barbara in the night.

He let her cry, giving her the time she needed to bring herself back under control. She had the feeling he would hold her for days, if that was what she required, and indeed she felt no great desire to leave the security of his embrace. Even when her tears dried she remained where she was, clinging to his lapels and tucked under his chin.

Finally she recovered well enough that she was able to pull away enough to look at him. He was smiling, the way he so rarely smiled - warm and open, his eyes bluer and clearer than the Pacific. She realized with no small surprise that she wanted to kiss him. She reached up and touched his hair wonderingly. It did occur to some small corner of her mind that it was longer than it should have been, and maybe just a touch grayer, but it made no difference. He met her kiss halfway and they sagged against the side of the building together, heedless of the officers and EMTs all around them, sinking into their rising passion.

Juliet awoke in a cold sweat. It wasn't the first time she'd had this dream, in fact it was the third time in the last_ month_. It was utterly incomprehensible - she wasn't attracted to Carlton. Sure, he was _attractive, _in his own way…with eyes her crazy aunt Sheryl would call "panty droppers"…and his smile, on those too-rare occasions when he took it out of mothballs, did make her feel a little weak in the knees…oh cripes, this was ridiculous. He was her _partner_, for crying out loud, and she already _had _a boyfriend.

Ah, the boyfriend. Even when she managed to look at the matter objectively she had to confess that while Carlton appeared, in the seven years she'd known him, to be aging like a fine wine, only getting better with time, she was beginning to notice more and more that Shawn was aging like milk. She had tried to lie to herself for some time, telling herself that the pudge he'd picked up over the years was actually beef, but the simple truth was that she was catching him sucking in his gut quite a lot these days, even when they were in bed together. It was not a particularly effective disguise. And now that his face was heavier his eyes looked too close together, too. It wasn't right to worry so much about the way he looked, but…well, honestly, his personality was starting to wear on her, so it wasn't like he had much to fall back on.

There'd been a time when she thought that Shawn was _nicer_ than Lassiter. He usually _acted_ nicer, but she was coming to believe that's exactly what it was, an _act_. And Lassiter, for all his gruffness, for all that he would like everyone around him to believe that he was an unfeeling, justice-dealing machine, had somehow over the years become her best friend and closest confidante. Which made her wonder exactly why she'd been afraid to tell him when she decided to pursue a romantic relationship with Shawn. No, he wouldn't have been _happy, _but if she'd been honest with him from the start…she was pretty sure he'd have tried to be _accepting._

Monday-morning quarterbacking. If she wanted to be serious about it maybe she should be wondering instead why she'd decided to jump into bed with Shawn in the first place. If it was time to break it off it was time to break it off - what the hell was she waiting for? That was probably what the dream was trying to tell her - her unconscious mind associating the only other man that had a major presence in her day-to-day life with the concept that there were other, better men out there. Although it really, _really_ felt more like the dream was trying to tell her that Carlton was a damned sexy man.

Juliet checked the clock on her bedside table, saw that it was close to the time she'd set her alarm for, and switched it off. She climbed out of bed and crossed to the bathroom for her morning shower.

Work was what it was seventy percent of the time, the slow grind of paperwork and information-gathering. They spent most of the day in the station at their separate desks, and when a break rolled around at last Lassiter came up with his keys in hand to invite her out for lunch. It was stuffy in the station, and he'd not only taken off his suit coat and tie but unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves. Juliet always marveled at how hairy his chest seemed to be while his arms were comparatively unfurred, and she was always amazed at how he seemed completely unaware of how _good _he looked when he was slowly coming unbuttoned like this.

"I don't feel like café sandwiches. Want go grab something out?" he said. "You can pick the restaurant, I just want to get out of this station and drive with the windows down."

Juliet resolutely pushed the unbidden image of him driving a convertible, top down and hair blowing in the wind, out of her mind. "Sounds good. Feel like Thai food?"

"Fine by me. Let's go."

He led her out of the bullpen and held the door for her. As she brushed past him she was entirely too aware of his slim build and the scent of some subdued aftershave. If it was dissatisfaction with Shawn that was making her all hot and bothered for her partner, then she really needed to put the kibosh on the failing relationship before something happened that she was increasingly afraid she wouldn't regret nearly as much as she should.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T for the moment

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter Two: Not too Funk to Druck**

Juliet had a secret, one she'd kept assiduously ever since her thirtieth birthday when she discovered her secret neatly and obviously _professionally _wrapped and sitting in the middle of her desk blotter. The card was addressed simply "To Juliet on her birthday" in beautiful flowing calligraphic script clearly handwritten by the same pro who wrapped the little package, offering her no good clue as to who had given her the gift. Inside the plain velvet-lined jewelers box was an eighteen inch hi-shine platinum chain and a pendant with six small but very sparkly diamonds set into a platinum bezel around a polished slice of pure black onyx that offset beautifully the tiny golden shield badge engraved with her actual badge number. Engraved on the back of the pendant, "Santa Barbara's Finest" was perfectly legible despite the extraordinarily miniscule size of the lettering. Even though the diamonds were of modest total carat weight, whoever had given her the piece had spent a small fortune.

She didn't know who'd given her the necklace.

She ought to know who gave it to her, she was a _detective, _damn it, and even if she didn't have the balls to ask she could always go to the high-end custom jeweler the box came from and ask to see the purchase record. She hadn't been able to, hadn't even taken the necklace home. She kept it in the back of the top drawer of her desk, often touched but never worn. She just hadn't been ready to find out who it came from.

On some level, though, she must have known from the start, or there would have been no reason for her to hide it away and wonder. When she first received it, her initial thought had been, _Oh my, how incredibly romantic._ Then she realized that not only was it _far_ out of Shawn's price range (he had few to no expenses, made good money consulting, and yet somehow he was always broke), it was unbelievably out of _character_. While Shawn might, conceivably, give her something that was intended to be special, it would always be something that was special to _him_. The necklace was clearly meant to strike quite firmly upon what was most special to _her_, and Lord help her, she couldn't imagine Shawn ever even recognizing the distinction. And if it hadn't come from Shawn then it hadn't been intended to be a romantic gift, and that meant that the romantic thrill she got every time she touched the little golden shield was wrong.

But if the relationship was in its last gasp, that meant there was no reason to fear that the first diamonds she'd ever received in her life hadn't come from her boyfriend, didn't it? In fact, now she had good reason to hope that they _hadn't_, didn't she? Before she left work that evening she took the necklace out of her desk and slipped it into her purse. Shawn was supposed to be treating her to dinner and a movie that night - she would wear the necklace on her date and see if there was any reaction at all. If it turned out he _had_ given her the necklace, then it was clear she hadn't seen all the way to the bottom of him, yet. If, as she suspected, he had _not, _then…well, maybe she was right in thinking that she had thoroughly plumbed the inner depths of Shawn Spencer, which would further mean she was more than justified in thinking the relationship was a lost cause.

As she left work that day she nodded her goodnights to her partner. Before he walked away from her to climb into his car she nearly asked him outright whether _he'd _been the one to give her the necklace, but in the end she couldn't. That silly tickle of romanticism prevented it. Whether it had been Lassiter or Shawn, the gift indicated _love_. The only difference would be the type of love intended, and she didn't know yet whether she could face the idea that the most perfect gift she had ever received had been given not out of passion but friendship.

When the Blueberry pulled up outside her apartment that night she was unsurprised - it wasn't like Shawn had ever made good on that threat to buy a car, after all - but it was _moderately_ surprising to see Gus behind the wheel. Shawn was in the front passenger seat, and he didn't even bother to get out. Juliet realized that they expected her to ride in the tiny car's back seat, and in her short, sexy red dress, dark-tan hose, and six-inch heels, she was fairly certain that she couldn't look _more_ like a casual pickup if she tattooed a price tag on her forehead. Evidently the "date" Shawn had invited her on…_wasn't._

Perturbed and not at all sure why she wasn't storming back into her house, Juliet climbed into the back of the Echo and grunted a noncommittal reply to Gus's words of greeting. "Ready for _tacos_, Jules?" Shawn cried out gaily, his voice too loud for the tiny vehicle. Tacos. Why in God's name had she expected better?

Gus drove them to his and Shawn's favorite Mexican restaurant. The mariachi music that played at head-splitting volume over the cheap sound system was far more authentic than the food. There wasn't even a host to seat them - they found their own red-checked tablecloth in the middle of the crowded family dining room.

"Lookin' _hot, _Jules," Shawn said. Looking _out of place _would have been more accurate. When the bored teenaged waitress came for their orders (without first having brought them menus) Shawn simply ordered for everyone without consult. Yes, Juliet _probably_ would have ordered the chicken enchilada, pushed to order _anything_ from the blandly Americanized entrée selections, but she would have liked the opportunity to choose for herself.

"That is a nice necklace you have on, Juliet," Gus said, the first reaction either of them had shown. "Did you have it custom designed?"

"It was a gift, actually," Juliet said breezily. Shawn's face didn't even flicker. "Anonymously given, unfortunately."

Gus's expression sharpened. "Shawn, I'd better _not_ find a charge on my credit card. I can't afford all your damned vacations _and_ customized platinum jewelry."

"Relax, buddy - wasn't from me. I mean, come on - a badge on a chain? Only _Lassie_ would ever come up with something that dumb." He took a huge bite of his chimichanga and a good-sized dollop of hot sauce fell off his fork onto his shirt. He wiped it off insufficiently with a finger that he promptly sucked clean. Juliet watched him in disgust.

"Shawn, that necklace is a pretty far cry from _dumb," _Gus said. "Do you _know _how much an ounce of platinum is valued at? Those diamonds aren't exactly industrial grade, either."

"They're teeny-tiny, Gus," Shawn said. "Barely visible. And I seriously doubt that its _really_ platinum. Lassie's too cheap for platinum - three months from now when it's dull and tarnished you'll know that it was silver."

"That's _platinum, _Shawn, and those diamonds may be small but they happen to be very _fine_ examples of the three Cs. If Lassiter really bought Juliet that necklace, he dropped a serious chunk of change on it. If I were _you, _I might be wondering _why."_

"I try not to look too closely into Lassie's rationale for _anything_ he does, lest I fall so deeply into the snake pits of his mind that I am forevermore lost to the light of sanity. And whatever his reasons might have been are all entirely moot - Jules knows who her man is, don't you, Jules?" He grinned in her direction.

As his self-satisfied expression caused cold fury to rise in Juliet's heart until it threatened to overwhelm her sense of reason, Juliet couldn't help but think that yes, indeed, she knew very well who her man was, and it certainly wasn't this slovenly _man-child _before her. She raised her Diet Coke to him in mock-salute and imagined the satisfaction she would get if she were to pour it over that greasy, over-gelled head.

Gus turned to her. "Regardless of what Shawn thinks, Juliet, I think it's a very _nice _necklace, very beautiful and very _you_, and an incredibly thoughtful and extravagant gift no matter who gave it or why."

It did occur to Juliet to wonder whether _Gus_ might not have given it to her, but even discounting the cold fact that Shawn was a tremendous financial strain on the man, fiscally responsible as he might be, she just couldn't see him giving her something so expensive and _personalized _for the sake of friendship or even secret desire. He would spend a lot of money on a girl he liked, but only if he was sure he'd get something out of it. The analysis seemed a bit cruel but Gus was a practical guy.

"Gus, if I didn't know that you'd only spend that much money on a girl if she was givin' you some, I'd say _you_ got her the necklace," Shawn joked. "Anyway, enough jewelry - eat your enchilada, Jules, or we'll miss the showtime. _Resident Evil: Retribution. _Milla Jovovich - _mrrrrow!"_

Juliet chuckled. If Shawn hadn't been so oblivious he might have recognized it was _not_ a pleasant sound. The only request she'd made of him when he asked her out was that they _not _go see the latest installment of the apparently endless _Resident Evil _franchise. "That's a you-and-Gus movie," she'd told him. She'd hoped for _Lawless_. She would have settled for _ParaNorman _or even _Finding Nemo 3D_. Evidently Shawn had paid as much attention to her wishes as he usually did. She stood up from her chair slowly.

"Enjoy your movie, Shawn," she said, and at the same time she said it she took the uneaten remains of her chicken enchilada in hand and shoved it in his face. She then wiped her hands quite calmly on a napkin, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door. She pulled out her cell phone as she walked and dialed up a cab company. She instructed the driver to meet her at an outdoor bistro a block down the street.

"Where to, lady?" the cabbie asked as she climbed in. She started to give her home address, then stopped.

"You know Tom Blair's Pub?" she asked.

"Sure thing."

Juliet didn't _know_ Lassiter would be there - over the years she'd learned, more or less accidentally, that there were two or three bars around town that he frequented in his off-duty hours. He didn't go out drinking _every _night by any means, and certainly the state of inebriation that Shawn had found him in all those years ago was very definitely the _exception_ rather than the rule, but still, chances were better than decent that he would stop at _one_ of his regular watering holes tonight. By dumb luck or benevolent Providence, she saw the black Ford Fusion parked in the lot outside Tom Blair's. She paid the cab driver and went inside to find a seat next to her partner at the bar.

"O'Hara," he greeted in mild surprise. "I thought you had a date tonight."

"So did I," she said. "But bad Mexican and _Resident Evil _with Shawn and _Gus _doesn't meet my date criteria."

He nearly choked on his Old Fashioned. "He asks you out to dinner and a movie and he brings _Guster?"_

"If the dinner and the movie had been more my style, I might not even have minded," Juliet admitted. She nodded to the barkeeper and ordered Scotch and soda. "So I shoved my enchilada in his face and came to hang out with an _adult. _Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. How'd you know I'd be here?"

"Just got lucky, I guess. I knew you come here sometimes."

"And just think - I almost went to Berman's instead." He took another deep swig of bourbon. "You…didn't _really_ shove an enchilada in Spencer's face, did you?"

She blushed. "I did. I should be ashamed of myself, I suppose, but honestly I don't feel all that bad about it."

"I just wish I could have been there to _see_ it," Lassiter said. He gestured to the bartender to refresh their drinks, put down his glass and nodded at her necklace. "Hey, you're wearing it. I thought maybe you didn't like it."

"So you _did_ give it to me," she said.

He shrugged. "Yeah. I knew Spencer was renting a _bouncy castle _for your birthday, and…well, it occurred to me that maybe, for whatever reason, you actually _wanted _a birthday like that, 'cause I know sometimes people don't like to be reminded of the fact that they're not twenty anymore, but I thought you ought to have a grown-up present. I never saw you wear it and you never said anything about it, so I was afraid maybe I'd offended you."

"All I want to know is why you didn't sign the card," Juliet said.

He shrugged again. "I don't know. Maybe I was afraid to, because I really _wasn't_ sure you'd like it. But I figured you'd know it was from me whether I put my name on the card or not."

"What made you think I wouldn't like it?" Juliet asked. "It's beautiful."

"I don't know. You said you liked silver better than gold, but silver doesn't stay shiny very long, so I went with platinum because it wears better. But once I paid for it I guess I got scared that you'd think, because it was a little expensive, that I was trying to one-up your boyfriend, and I didn't want you to get mad at me again."

_I said I like silver better than gold? _Juliet thought. _When did I say that?_ It was true, of course, she far preferred the look of silver or white gold to yellow gold or other colored golds (although she did have a _slight _soft spot for chocolate gold), but she didn't remember ever having said that to Lassiter. Of course, maybe because she was just a naturally chatty person, or more likely that mixed with the fact that Carlton was so very quiet most of the time, she knew she had told him a _lot _of completely off-subject things about herself, just to fill the silences. She never actually thought he was _listening_, though.

"You knew…and _remembered_…that I prefer silver over gold?" she marveled aloud. She polished off her drink and gestured to the bartender for a refill of hers and Carlton's both. "Dare I tell you that I find that incredibly sweet of you?"

He blushed and absently drank down the fresh whisky. "It's not a big deal. I just wanted you to have something that let you know what a good cop you are. Given the way I acted after…well, I thought it was important to let you know that _I_ know I'm lucky to have you for my partner. And my…friend."

"Oh, Carlton," she said, and hugged his arm. She was feeling more than a little buzzed already and kind of reckless. "Ditto, you big teddy bear."

"O'Hara, you didn't eat anything, did you?" Lassiter said. "You should probably slow down, maybe order some buffalo wings or something."

"Just keep the drinks coming and we'll go shares on the cab ride, partner. Tonight I need to get good and drunk with a good friend. The kind of night that might end with us waking up in a jail cell."

"I _hope_ it doesn't end that way, but given how your night started maybe you _do _need to get good and drunk." He ordered another round.

They talked and drank, and despite her slighter body weight Juliet's tally of drinks matched up pretty closely with Lassiter's. At last call they poured themselves into the back of a cab, thoroughly sheeted and laughing like maniacs.

"Mind if I crash on your couch, partner?" Juliet asked. "I don't feel like going home tonight."

"I suppose that's okay," Lassiter slurred, and gave the cabby his address. He looked to be on the verge of a blackout, and sat quietly in the back of the cab with his arm around Juliet's shoulders while she talked.

She held up the pendant before their doubled vision. "I just wanted to tell you that this is the sweetest gift I have ever received. At first, I admit it, I kinda hoped it was from Shawn, but now - I'm glad that it was from you. Shawn Spencer is an _ass hat," _she spit out, and giggled. "You, Carlton Lassiter, are nothing like him. You are a _damn good guy."_

"Actually I'm…pretty sure I'm an ass hat, too," he said.

"No no no no no, now don't put yourself down. You are not an ass hat."

"I think I am."

"No!"

"Yeah, 'cause I'm pretty sure only an ass hat would be thinking these thoughts about somebody else's girlfriend, particularly when the girlfriend in question is his partner."

Juliet grinned. "What thoughts?" she asked. _"Dirty _thoughts? 'Cause I gotta say, I've had a few about _you_ lately. Been _dreaming _about you, even. _Good _dreams. Sexy dreams."

"I have not been this drunk in a _good long while," _Lassiter said, as if he hadn't heard.

"Too funk to druck?" Juliet said, and laughed.

He shook his head. "I have _never_ been too funk to druck."

"A'right, you two - Prospect Gardens," the cabbie broke in. "Just in time, too, by the sounds of things."

They climbed out of the cab and Lassiter paid him, though he seemed to be having considerable trouble standing up. "A'right, man, have a good 'un," the cabbie said before driving away. "You are gonna have one _hell _of a hanger in the morning, but if you wake up next to _that, _I don't suppose you'll mind any."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter Three: A Night to Barely Remember**

Who in God's name was shining the searchlight into his face? And why did his tongue feel like a fuzzy caterpillar that had died last summer and turned into a fuzzy caterpillar mummy? And who was the asshole who cut the top of his head off and filled his brainpan with hot broken volcanic glass?

Oh.

_Yeah._

This was a hangover.

Lassiter groaned and covered his face with one hand. He didn't typically drink to the point of real drunkenness - what in the world had possessed him to overindulge? And why…_why_ wasn't he wearing any pajamas?

And more importantly still, who exactly was the _equally naked woman _lying half on top of him?

_Oh dear good Lord and sweet lady justice, please don't tell me I hooked up with a random and probably diseased stranger last night._

He risked a glance and saw nothing but tousled honey-golden hair. It looked an awful lot like _O'Hara's _hair, actually, and the body pressed quite firmly against his own was about the right size. _Dear good Lord and sweet lady justice, don't tell me I hooked up with a random and probably diseased stranger because she looked a little like my _partner.

The woman, whoever she was, stirred slightly. "God, somebody turn off the sun, my head hurts," she moaned, and tried to burrow into his chest. God help him, she_ sounded _a little like O'Hara.

He had an idea that his face might melt right off his skull if he saw what he was afraid he was about to, but he had to know. He reached out and gently lifted her head so that he could look at her face.

"_Holy Shit!"_

He shot sideways out of bed and onto the floor, landing in a naked heap beside the bedside table. "Not so loud, please," O'Hara whined. "God, now I'm all cold."

She tunneled under the covers. Lassiter peered over the edge of the bed, hair wild and eyes wilder, unable to believe what his senses were telling him was true. He had actually…slept…_naked_…with O'Hara. He couldn't, at the moment, even conceive the idea that there had been more to it than simply _sleeping_. He probably would have stayed there in a pile on the floor, locked up by shock and terror, if the cool morning air acting on his unprotected skin hadn't eventually made him aware of one other natural consequence of an all-night bender. On hands and knees he crawled to the bathroom.

When the urgent business of relieving himself of about half a gallon of Jack Daniels was over and a cold shower restored some of his equilibrium he was in a better state to take stock of the situation. O'Hara was not in his bed, that was ridiculous. He'd had some sort of nightmare, or perhaps an hallucination, and when he returned to the bedroom he would find the bed empty and no trace of any wrongdoing would remain.

He slipped into his bathrobe and, with a light heart, returned to the bedroom. O'Hara was now sitting up in the middle of the bed, comforter held just under her breasts, looking around herself as if she wasn't quite sure where she was. She didn't look _upset_, just curious. The platinum pendant swung just below her clavicle, the only article of clothing she retained from the night before.

"Hey, Carlton," she greeted when she saw him. "Please tell me you have a cabinet full of black coffee."

He turned smartly on his heel and headed for the kitchen. "I'll put some on."

Enough time passed while he brewed a fresh pot for Juliet to have her own shower, and she walked in wearing one of his shirts and nothing else. She was just in time to rescue the carafe from Lassiter's shaking hands.

"Are you okay? Maybe you should sit down," she said.

He leaned his elbows on the countertop and hid his face in his hands. "O'Hara, I - I don't know what happened last night but I am so, _so_ sorry."

"I knew it - you're freaking out, aren't you? Come on, let's get you sat down and see if we can't head off this panic attack."

She took him by the arm and led him into the living room, where she pushed him down onto the loveseat and sat beside him. "Listen, Carlton, there's no sense in getting upset over last night. We're both adults here, we can deal with this rationally. Now, what do you remember about what happened?"

"Evidently I got you drunk and took advantage of you," he said, face still buried in his hands.

"Carlton. That is _not _what happened. Wow, you were a lot drunker than I thought if you really don't remember."

He risked a peek through his fingers. "You mean…nothing happened?"

"Nothing _bad," _Juliet said matter-of-factly. "We got drunk, we screwed."

"Oh God." He hid behind his hands again.

She grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands away. "Carlton, look at me: _you didn't take advantage of me. _We were both drunk, we were both evidently in need of a little comfort and communion. We had sex, and maybe it was the Scotch but it seemed like pretty _good_ sex to me. Maybe if we hadn't been so drunk we would have thought better of it, but it happened and we can't change it. And for my part, even if it _was_ a mistake, I don't regret it. You're a good guy, Carlton, and I needed a good guy last night."

"You'll regret it. Even if you don't regret it now, sooner or later you'll regret it. It's going to come back to haunt us. In a major, major way."

She hugged him. "Everything will be okay, Carlton, you'll see. Do you want me to stay or would you rather have your space right now?"

"Sooner or later I suppose we're going to have to have a real discussion about this," he said, "but right now I think maybe I could use some time to think."

"Fair enough," she said. "I'll get dressed and call a cab. If you need to talk later, we'll talk."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

**A/N: **My dad had a thing where, if he accidentally blew a stop sign or something (not that it happened often) he would stop _twice _at the next sign, which amounts basically to letting up on the brakes and slamming down on them again and while it may balance something out _karmicly_, I really don't think it would hold water with a police officer issuing a ticket for failure to stop. I do not know if this is a widespread phenomenon or if it was unique to the ol' man, but it seemed ridiculous enough to appropriate for Lassiter's reaction to his moral dilemma. "Kim's Game" is essentially the game Henry plays with "how many hats are there" - a test of memory and observation.

* * *

**Chapter Four: Oops I Did It Again**

"Hey, Jules. Have a _pleasant_ evening?"

Juliet, rummaging through her purse for her cell phone as she exited Lassiter's apartment, looked up with no surprise. "Shawn."

He'd been slouched against the wall across from Lassiter's door, and now he stood up straight. His arms were crossed over his chest and he looked angry. "It strikes me as showing rather poor relationship skills, acting out, running off, not answering calls or texts, getting drunk and screwing another guy. Particularly when that guy is _Lassie."_

"You're right, Shawn. If you and I were _in_ a relationship, that would have been a _very bad thing _for me to do."

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you, Jules?" Shawn burst out. "I take you out for a nice date and you act like a _crazy _person."

"A _nice date?" _she marveled. "First of all, Shawn, a _date_ is between _two people. _The minute you invited Gus along it ceased to be a 'date.'"

"What? Jules, bringing Gus was _your idea."_

"Like hell it was."

"Hell to the _yeah, _it was. You said you didn't want to see _Resident Evil: Retribution _without him."

"I _said _that I didn't want to see _Resident Evil: Retribution_. I _told_ you to go see it with Gus _without me."_

"Well then clearly we need to work on our communication skills."

"No, Shawn_, we _don't need to work on _our_ 'communication skills.' _You_ need to learn to _listen_. You _never_ listen. Not to me, certainly, and not to anyone else as far as I can tell. I'm tired of it, Shawn, and I'm tired of always having to be the one that compromises."

"When have I _ever_ made you compromise? I always give you everything you want."

"I know you've given me everything _you_ want, Shawn, but I've gotten very little that I can see was just for _me."_

"How can you say that, Jules? I brought you back together with your _father_, for Christ's sake."

Juliet's eyes did _not_ turn red, but judging from the way Shawn immediately stepped back, looking spooked, he must have _thought _they did. "Yeah, Shawn. Let's talk about that, shall we? _Let's_. You forced my father down my throat when you knew full well I didn't want anything to do with the lying bastard, had damn good reason not to want anything to do with him. You pushed me into a relationship _I don't want_, and your motives elude me to this day. Your _hypocrisy _does _not _elude me, however, since _you_, who have a perfectly decent, honorable father who has clearly always been there for you despite how much you piss and moan about how _bad_ you had it because he made you play Kim's Game one too many times, refuse to make any real amends with him, evidently because you're mad at him because _'Poor widdle Shawnie's mommy an' daddy got divorced' _when you were a _senior in high school_. All I can say is Boo-frickety-hoo. You know, I've gotten the impression over the years that Carlton is estranged from _his_ father as well. You going to try and remove _that_ mote, too, Mr. Beam-in-Thine-Eye?"

"Firstly, I'm pretty sure Lassie's dad is dead; secondly, what the hell is Kim's Game; and thirdly, since you brought up the subject, why the _fuck_ did you fuck Lassie last night?"

"All right, firstly, Lassiter's dad is _not _dead, he lives somewhere up in Washington _Mr. Psychic_; secondly, pick up a book some time. _Kim_, by Rudyard Kipling. Parts of it might look familiar to you. Thirdly, it is no business of yours what - or _who_ - I do."

"It _is _my business, seeing as I'm your _boyfriend."_

Taken aback momentarily, Juliet could only stare at him for a second. Then, "You know what, Shawn, there's something I'd like to show you. Would you be so kind as to wait here for a few minutes?"

He nodded, as if graciously, and Juliet turned and went back into Lassiter's apartment. He was still seated on the loveseat in his bathrobe, hair awry and a shell-shocked expression on his face. "What's wrong?" he said, when he realized she was back.

"Nothing's wrong. Say, mind if I raid your fridge? Whatever I take, I promise I'll pay you back."

"No, no, don't worry about it. Take what you want."

Juliet opened the side-by freezer and found an orderly stack of frozen dinners and bins of quick microwavable foods as she'd expected. She pulled a pepperoni Hot Pocket from an open box, unwrapped it, put it on a plate, and nuked it. She cut it into small, gooey pieces and waited until it stopped steaming, then carried the plate through to the living room. She grabbed Lassiter's arm and hoisted him to his feet.

"Come on, you'll want to see this."

She led him to the front door, opened it, and stepped into the hallway where Shawn still waited patiently. She dug her fingers into the gooey pocket-pizza slop, picked up a handful, and shoved it into Shawn's face.

"Friends are great but I need a _man_, Shawn, not a boy," was all she said before disappearing back into the apartment.

Shawn stood stock-still with Hot Pocket smeared all over his (a little warm, but should not have been at all astonished) face, and Lassiter stood stock-still for a moment, assimilating the scene. "Wow, Spencer, I - I'm really torn," he said at last. "On the one hand, good manners dictates that I should offer to let you in or at least give you a wet washcloth or something to clean yourself up, but on the other…I really, _really_ like seeing you with pizza on your face." He snapped his fingers and grinned. _"I _know what I'll do. I'll stop _twice _at the next red light. _That'll _balance out the scales." He turned into the apartment and closed the door firmly behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter Five: Reboundin'**

The Hot Pocket incident did a lot to relieve Lassiter's feelings, and by the time Juliet _did_ leave that morning he seemed more or less himself again. She was sure he would chew over the events of their one drunken night often in the days to come, just as she was sure that he remembered more of it than he cared to admit. If she only knew how to help him she would have been glad to, but she supposed he would have to come to terms with it on his own. That was simply the man he was.

When she got home she decided to veg out in her jammies rather than dress and face the day. She pulled her warm flannel two-piece set out of the drawer first, then reconsidered and put on her favorite lace and silk nightie instead. Today was a day for snuggling under the covers, not crashing on the couch in front of the TV. She grabbed her giant stuffed polar bear from the bedside chair to cuddle while she napped. It was nice, but she couldn't help thinking that it would be better if the furry body beneath her cheek had a heartbeat.

She dozed, and when she dozed she dreamed. Long fingers combing through her hair, warm lips pressed hard to hers. Bodies coming together in the heat of passion. The memory, blurred around the edges from the alcohol but clear enough, made her quite horny and she woke to discover she was close to humping the poor, innocent teddy bear. She groaned into its plush fur and pushed it away.

_Damn, Carlton - if you were the kind of guy who'd do it, I'd call and ask you to come over, _she thought. For herself, the idea of a "rebound" relationship for sexual gratification and smoothing out the jagged emotional edges was acceptable, if not always well-considered. A man as trustworthy as her partner would have made an _ideal_ rebound lover, but she knew him well enough to know that he wasn't exactly okay with the idea of casual sex, especially with _her_. Stone-cold sober, he was highly unlikely to acquiesce to the idea of a hookup.

So she took the one option that seemed to be open to her, and slipped off her bra and panties from under the silky nightgown. The feel of her own hands on and under the silk and lace wasn't nearly as satisfying as the feel of _his_ hands had been, but the eroticism awakened her nerve endings enough to flood her senses with the memory of his touch, of his sex. Maybe it had been the booze, maybe it had been the break-up, but she couldn't remember ever being with a man who seemed so _intuitive_ about what she wanted, or so assiduous in doing those things for her. Even staggeringly drunk he'd had stamina and presence of mind to attend to _her _pleasures instead of merely his own.

She was a little surprised to discover that she didn't _want_ "sex with Carlton" to be a one-time thing. The issue of _his_ reservations regarding casual sex and her own reservations about becoming involved with her partner was a lot to surmount, but if she could make it happen, Juliet was determined that it would - and it would happen with _both _of them completely sober.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter Six: Going to Act the Shit Out of This**

Juliet came into work on Monday and found Lassiter already at his desk - not an unusual occurrence, to be sure. She hadn't spoken to him since leaving his apartment Saturday morning, giving him time and his space to come to grips with what happened on his own. She stopped for a moment on the way to her own desk and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, partner, how are you?" she asked.

"Good morning, O'Hara," he said brusquely. "I'm fine, thanks. You?"

"I'm good, Carlton. I'm guessing this is the 'lock down and pretend it didn't happen' technique?"

"Pretend _what _didn't happen, Detective?"

Juliet sighed. "Detective Lassiter, may I see you in the conference room for a moment, please?"

He looked like he wanted to refuse, but after a moment he got reluctantly to his feet. Inside the conference room, Juliet closed and locked the door and closed all the blinds. "Sit down," she ordered. He sat.

"Carlton, talk to me. Are you okay? I mean _really_ okay?"

"O'Hara, this is not the time or the place for this discussion," Lassiter protested.

"Too bad, because I'm not leaving you alone until we have it. Are you going to be all right working with me in the wake of Friday night? Because I'm telling you right now, I don't _want_ another partner."

"It may not be up to us, O'Hara."

"What are you talking about?"

"Spencer _knows _what happened. He couldn't keep his big mouth shut about me and Lucinda and he didn't have a personal stake in that. Do you really think he'll be able or _willing_ to keep quiet about _this?"_

Rattled, Juliet sat down across from him. "What are we going to do?" she asked.

"I don't know. I'm not sure there's anything we _can _do. I figure we can either go to Chief Vick ourselves and try and head him off at the pass, or…well…hope for the best and pretend nothing's changed, on the off chance Spencer gets hit by a pickle truck or something."

"I'm not sure either option sounds particularly thrilling, Carlton."

He spread his hands wide. "Yeah, well, that's where we are."

Juliet _wanted_ to believe his assessment of the situation was wrong, but she knew Shawn well enough to guess that it wasn't. "Well, I…guess we should talk to the Chief, then," she said.

"Is that _really_ what you want to do?" he asked.

"You'd rather go with option two?" O'Hara said. "Because to me that sounds like certified career napalm if Shawn _does_ decide to spill it."

He sat up straighter. "That may be an accurate assessment, O'Hara, but over the last few years I've gotten quite good at acting the shit out of things. I guess it's starting to come naturally."

_What things? _she wondered. Out loud she said, "We should get it over with. It's not going to get any easier, and the longer we wait the better the chances that Shawn will beat us to the punch."

Lassiter stood and straightened out his suit jacket. "If he hasn't already."

"Let's just go," she said, and chivvied him out the door.

Chief Vick was standing right outside, arms crossed over her chest and neatly plucked eyebrows cocked at a serious angle. "Ah, just the two I wanted to see. My office, now."

"Shit," Lassiter spat. "I knew it."

Vick closed and locked the door behind them. "I received an interesting anonymous telephone call this weekend, claiming that the two of you were seen…hmm, shall we say _inflagrante?_ Frankly I found it rather hard to credit, since I know that _my two top detectives _would never be so indiscreet, but when I recognized the voice through the lousy Southern accent I was forced to pay a little better attention. Is there anything you need to tell me?"

Lassiter looked at O'Hara, as if to say, _See what kind of asshole you hooked up with?, _and then turned back to the Chief. "Karen, O'Hara broke up with Spencer this weekend. She did _nothing wrong, _he's just out for revenge."

"On _you_, apparently, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me," Vick said. "He was very careful in describing to me how you took advantage of her while she was inebriated. Essentially he accused you of _rape, _though not in so many words."

"_It wasn't rape," _Juliet said fiercely.

"Ah, but then you _admit _that there was sex," Vick said triumphantly.

Lassiter hung his head. "Yes, Chief. For the record, we were _both_ pretty shitfaced. It was a rough day, emotions were high, and we…we got carried away. It's never happened before and believe me, it will _never _happen again."

_Not unless _I _have anything to say about it, _Juliet thought.

Lassiter continued, "I certainly understand if you feel the need for…disciplinary measures, Chief, and I accept full responsibility. O'Hara shouldn't be blamed for anything that happened."

She elbowed him sharply in the side. "Takes two to tango, Galahad."

"That's what _I've_ always heard," Vick said dryly. "Detective Lassiter, you may step out. O'Hara, I want to talk to you privately."

"Chief, I - " Lassiter began to expostulate.

"I'm sorry, did I accidentally frame that as a request? Out. Now."

He left. Vick sat down behind her desk and toyed with her art glass fish. "O'Hara, are you familiar with the concept of _in vino veritas?" _she asked idly.

"Uh, yes, Chief," Juliet replied.

"Good, good. And are you familiar with the concept that Carlton Lassiter, drunk or sober, is not a 'casual sex' kind of guy?"

Now she was slightly boggled. "Er…yes, I guess I am."

"Excellent. So then I hope you can draw the logical syllogism here."

"Uh…I…think you lost me, Chief."

"Logical statement: Drinking lowers inhibitions and often bares hidden feelings. Logical statement: Carlton Lassiter is not the sort of man who would have sex with a woman he does not _love_. _Ergo…"_

"Carlton…had sex with me…because he was drunk and in love?" Juliet ventured.

Vick nodded broadly. "Exactly. And I don't think I need to tell you that _Carlton Lassiter_, while a strong man in many respects, is emotionally rather…_fragile. _He'd never back down from a fight or flinch away from a thrown punch, but you start toying with his heart and you'll have him on the ropes in no time. Follow me?"

"I'm not sure, Chief. I mean, I understand what you're saying, I just…don't quite know why you're saying it."

"Don't you?" Vick said. "Well, let me put it another way. _You, _O'Hara, have had quite a few relationships in the time I've known you. Some of these relationships were obviously nothing more than dating, and some were quite clearly rather more than that. None of them seemed to last particularly long, not even your relationship with Mr. Spencer."

Juliet bridled. "Chief…are you trying to say that I'm…_slutty?"_

"No, O'Hara, not in the least, and you didn't let me finish. You _aren't _slutty - you _are _a modern, emancipated woman and you have exercised your right to explore your sexuality. It would appear that you have done so in a mature, responsible manner, given that you've managed to remain unburdened by the consequences of _being _sexually active. But you have a fairly casual outlook on the role of sex in a relationship. Carlton…does _not_. And unlike you, Carlton is _not capable _of writing off a sexual encounter as a never-to-be-repeated _fling_. He may say that he can do that, but I've known him a long time now and he can _not._ For Carlton, sex will never be an entirely legitimate activity unless rendered legal by a marriage certificate and a Catholic ceremony - he doesn't like to be _touched_, O'Hara, you know that; why else would Spencer get such a kick out of continually invading his personal space? Physical intimacy is something he simply cannot engage in with just anyone. How long did it take you to get him to share a simple, very awkward _hug_ with you? He slept with you, O'Hara, and that means he's been carrying around some pretty powerful feelings for you, probably for a very long time now."

"I…guess I see what you're saying, Chief."

"I'm glad. I've worked with Carlton for almost twenty years now, and even though we don't exactly 'hang out', he has become part of my _family_, and I look after family. You could call me a bit overprotective of him, but when you take into consideration just how _badly _he takes emotional upset, you should be able to see very clearly why I would do almost anything to look out for him. Now, I'm sure you want to know what I'm leading up to. It's this, O'Hara: I'm going to look the other way on this, count it off as an angry ex-boyfriend causing trouble - which he'd better not continue to do or I will _end him_. _But_ I will not tolerate any further dalliances. Carlton isn't the kind of man you can have sex with while looking for a more permanent situation: he has to _be_ the permanent situation."

Agog, Juliet could only gape for a moment. "What - what makes you think there would be further…_dalliances?"_

"Phsst. I caught the way you looked at him when he said there'd be no repeat. I didn't just fall off the turnip truck, you know. I'm sure he's an…adept…lover, but unless you intend to go the full boyfriend-girlfriend route and all that might lead to, I'd better not hear about any long stakeouts in the backseat of the cruiser."

"Unless I - Chief, I - "

"Enough, O'Hara. Believe me, I don't want to hear about it. Just remember what I said, and make up your mind whether this is a fling or something serious. Carlton is a good man, and he deserves better than what life has given him thus far. Do _not _hurt him."

"I…have no intention of it, Chief," Juliet said.

"Good. You're dismissed."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter Seven: I Now Know That If I Ever Encounter a Puma I can Just Push it the Hell Over**

Juliet went back to her desk, more than a little rattled by the Chief's words and even more confused. What the Chief _told_ her was clear enough - Carlton was fragile, Carlton wasn't a toy - but her own feelings were in something of a jumble in the wake of Vick's ultimatum. She wanted to have sex with Carlton again, definitely, if for no other reason than to confirm the reality of what she felt she had experienced, but she _didn't _want to be his girlfriend…did she?

_That _was going to require some contemplation.

He looked to her as she walked past, eyes worried. She shot him an "okay" sign and a thumb's up, and returned to her computer and the reports that awaited her attention. They didn't have it, and her gaze kept returning to her partner. She caught herself smiling at his hair, grown out longer than she was used to seeing it, slicked back on the sides and curling on top so that he looked about two inches taller. It would look better, she thought, if he _didn't_ slick back the sides and just let them curl, but he also wouldn't look like Carlton anymore. Speaking of, it was definitely past time he retired that silver-gray suit - looked good on him, yes, but there were signs it was starting to wear, and he'd clearly (and inexpertly) mended a torn seam on the side.

It occurred to her that some of her feelings verged upon the maternal. She turned back to her work resolutely before she could notice a smudge on his cheek and give him a spittle bath.

She managed to focus on work for a good hour or so, until a commotion from outside drew her - and everyone else's - attention.

"_I'm callin' yew out, Shurrff," _an artificially-amplified (and all too familiar) voice bounced off the walls and reechoed weirdly.

Lassiter dropped his pen and ran a distracted hand through his hair. "What is that idiot up to now?"

"_That's right_, I, _Shawn Spencer, am calling out _you, _Detective Lt. Carlton Meshach Lassiter. Meet me on the field of honor - otherwise known as the sidewalk out front - in five minutes or be forever known as a pantywaisted ninny."_

"_Meshach?" _Juliet said in disbelief.

"No, it's not Meshach," Lassiter said as he pushed himself out of his chair.

Chief Vick burst out of her office. "Did I really just hear…?"

"You really just heard, Chief," Juliet said. They and the rest of the officers in the bullpen followed Lassiter down the stairs and out the front door.

"I'm sorry, Boss - he asked to borrow my bullhorn and I figured there was no harm in that, so…" Officer Buzz McNab looked sheepish, standing beside his prowler a pace or two from Spencer.

"So you just handed the little boy a big, noisy toy," Lassiter said. He stood on the top step with his arms crossed over his chest. "I don't know what the hell you're trying to do, Spencer, but at least have the courtesy to scream and shout _correct information_. My rank happens to be _Captain_, not Lieutenant, and my middle name is _Michael."_

In that blank state that indicated he was totally nonplussed, Spencer raised the bullhorn to his mouth again. "Oh, I…I knew it started with an M, I just…figured it would be Biblical."

"Michael _is _Biblical, dipshit. Officer McNab, would you please recover your bullhorn before it becomes necessary for you to pull it out of Mr. Spencer's ass, first?"

Given life and volition by the command of a superior, McNab nodded and stepped forward to gently finesse the megaphone from Spencer's hands.

"Mr. Spencer, I don't know exactly what you're hoping to accomplish with this little display, but you'd better rethink it right now," Vick said.

"This is between me and Lassie, Chief," Shawn said.

"Not when you blare it out on a megaphone in front of the entire street, it isn't. And I will warn you right here and now that I will not tolerate your interfering with my officers."

"I'm not going to interfere with him, I'm going to knock his block off."

Vick looked from Spencer - short, pudgy, and undisciplined - to Lassiter - tall, fit, and very well trained. "Are you _high_, Mr. Spencer?" she asked.

"He stole my girl, Chief."

"All right, Mr. Spencer, quite apart from the fact that assault is a crime, assaulting an _officer _a further crime, and O'Hara is not an object that can be _stolen, _seriously -_ are you high? _You attack Lassiter, Lassiter will _kill_ you."

Spencer struck an awkward Karate pose. "I have mastered the art of Kung Fu and my body is a weapon. I am like the mighty and majestic puma."

"Your body is a mound of _suet_ loosely shaped into the form of a human being by denim and cotton-poly blends," Lassiter said. He descended the steps. "Go home, Spencer. Cry on Guster's shoulder and drink a pineapple smoothie or something."

"_Hhhhrrrraaaah!" _Spencer cried, and launched an attack that would have been highly effective against a third-degree black belt of any martial art - provided his blow landed while the master was still recovering from the laughter-induced pants-wetting. Lassiter was _not _a third-degree black belt of any martial art. He didn't need to be. He simply reached out one long arm and pushed the man down, almost gently.

"Wow, all these years of being, I thought, justly afraid of pumas, and I now know that if I ever encounter a puma I can just push it the hell over," Lassiter said.

Karen Vick clopped down the steps heavy-footed enough to emphasize the ultimate seriousness of what was happening. When Shawn made to rise from his flat-on-his-back position, she planted one black pump right in the middle of his chest. "Let me make some things perfectly clear, Mr. Spencer, while I've got your attention," she said. "First of all, it is _way_ past time for you to get the hell over yourself. Secondly, I could arrest you right now, as could Detective Lassiter. _He_ may still choose to, as may I. Thirdly, _O'Hara dumped you_. Lassiter didn't make her do that - _you _did. Perhaps you should spend some time figuring out _why, _which brings me back to my first point - _get over yourself."_

She stepped back, coming shoulder to much-lower shoulder with Lassiter. "What do you want to do with him, Detective?" she asked.

"Call Henry or Guster to come scrape him up off the pavement," he said derisively. "He's not worth the effort it would take to book him."

"All right. McNab, go call one of them - I don't care which. Mr. Spencer? I just want you to know that I don't particularly _like _you. I hire you because you get results, but don't ever think that I am not fully aware that I could still get those results, perhaps not so quickly but undoubtedly more _cleanly_, if you were _not _consulted. Just something to keep in mind going forward." Vick nodded to the psychic and to her head detective. "Gentlemen - I trust there will be no further trouble? Good. Now I'm going back to work, and I suggest that every other officer on watch do the same."

She went back inside, and more slowly, the other officers did the same - including Lassiter. Juliet lingered on the steps a moment longer, fingering the little golden shield she wore around her neck. Spencer sat in a dejected pile on the sidewalk. "Jules?" he called up to her plaintively.

"It's over, Shawn. Just get over it," she said, and went back into the station.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Thinking Problem**

It's hard to get any work done when you're worried and anxious. When you add to that the distractions of a former boyfriend who can't take a hint and a startlingly active libido focused entirely upon your closest coworker, it's almost impossible. Juliet battled her difficulties as best she could and somehow managed to get through the week. On Friday night she went home and immediately jumped into a hot bubble bath to relax and shed some tension. It didn't work as well as she'd hoped, and as she soaked in the heat her thoughts turned inevitably to her partner.

If only things could be simple, for once. If Carlton could be a definitive asshole just _once_ instead of always coming across as a stray puppy who growls because he's hurt and scared then she'd be able to put this sudden, uncomfortable infatuation away and forget it. Or if he'd let her see into him far enough to be sure that a scared, lost puppy is exactly what he _was _then she could start seriously considering giving him a good home. And the image of Puppy-Carlton was entirely too adorable to contemplate without seriously impairing her judgment.

As a police officer she knew full well the all-too-common results of relationships where the woman believed she could "heal" or "change" the man in the equation, and while she recognized that it was exactly what she'd gotten trapped in herself with Shawn she also knew that Shawn wasn't _dangerou_s - Carlton, on the other hand…Carlton had that potential, even if she couldn't honestly see him ever actually hurting anyone outside of the commission of his duty. Regardless of whether that perception was correct, she shouldn't be thinking about getting involved with anyone so damaged, particularly if she recognized that a lot of her attraction was because of that healer's instinct. But Carlton…_Carlton could be healed, _she was sure of it - he'd taken major strides all on his own, and although he denigrated therapists and therapy in general, she knew he utilized their services more than he would ever admit, let alone more than his insurance would pay for. He wanted to change, that was an important consideration, and the fact that he'd continued to seek help even once he had accepted that his marriage was over meant that he wanted to change for _his own sake_. A guy like that was salvageable, as Chief Vick had more or less told her already.

She let herself sink deeper into the foamy tub. Chief Vick's tacit and probably unintentional recommendation that she consider a steady romantic relationship with Lassiter actually had an adverse effect on her thoughts. She admired and respected her top officer, even considered her a friend, but perhaps she still felt a little bit insulted by her interpretation of past relationships (she might have described it as "modern" but to Juliet it still sounded like "slutty," and the worst of it was that looking back on her own romantic past she wasn't entirely certain that she _hadn't_ been - she had been rather quick to leap into bed on one or two memorable occasions, one being Declan Rand and two being Shawn Spencer), and perhaps she had a touch of that stubborn independence that would make her resent the interference of _anyone_ in her personal life. For whatever reason her hackles were up, and if it made her feel at least a little bit catty then it also helped her keep some degree of perspective when hormones and body chemistry were drawing her in like a magnet - maybe she should be grateful for it.

Her cell phone rang. She reached for it and checked the number. It was Shawn, for the three hundred and forty-seventh time that week. Rolling her eyes, she refused the call, put the phone back on the bathroom counter, and sank back into the bubbles with a deep sigh. Nearly six years of wondering whether he was worth the risk of dating, not quite a year of actually dating, and with all that time to think and plan and prepare how could she still have ended up in such a cataclysmically stupid relationship? Maybe she was guilty of _over-_thinking that one, giving him too much time to work his way in under her defenses. If she'd just gone out with him when he first started hitting on her she probably would have realized sooner just how worthless he was in terms of partnership and she wouldn't have wasted so much of her life on him. Or maybe, when he first started hitting on her, she should have given him a good swift kick in the balls and not wasted _any_ of her life on him.

Seven years of Shawn Spencer had taught her to second-guess her romantic inclinations, but seven years had also taught her that Carlton Lassiter was _not_ a worthless partner, and she was ninety percent certain that it would hold true in a personal partnership as well as the professional. But how could she know unless she took the risk of _engaging_ that personal relationship?

The shock of revelation made her slip briefly under the water and she came up sputtering with her eyes stinging from the soap. She couldn't know unless she tried, and the only question that remained to her was whether the reward was worth the risk. On the whole, she rather thought the answer was _yes_.

She let the water out of the tub and rinsed herself off with a quick shower. She didn't bother with the hair dryer, merely toweled the excess water from her locks and brushed out the tangles. If she knew his routine as well as she thought she did, then he would be heading out to one of his usual haunts inside of half an hour or so, and she would have to hurry to catch him before he'd had enough whiskey to get buzzed - and given the stresses _he'd _clearly been dealing with all week long, he intended to get thoroughly drunk tonight. She dressed quickly in her warm white knit dress - the high turtleneck and long sleeves warm enough to compensate for her still-damp condition, the short skirt and bust-enhancing fuzzy fabric sexy enough for an informal date - and grabbed her purse and keys. If she called him she might end up scaring him, the question was now could she find which bar he was headed for without help? She sent up a quick prayer to God, Cupid, Aphrodite, and Eros for good fortune.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

**A/N: **The title is a line from a poem by Ogden Nash. Unfortunately I don't remember the title of the poem.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: A Little Incompatibility is the Spice of Life - Especially When He has Income and She is Patable**

She caught up to him at Meltreger's, the most trendy of the three bars he occasionally patronized. She was simultaneously relieved and anxious to be able to read sobriety in the way he sat his barstool. There was a buffer zone of empty stools around him, partly because he always chose the least-occupied section of bar to sit, partly because it didn't take even _drunk_ people long to know that it wasn't wise to get too chatty with the suspicious-eyed man in the grey business suit. She gave herself one final prink in the mirror of her powder compact, touched up her dark coral lipstick, and approached.

"What say you pay up your tab and take me out to dinner?" she said, coming up beside him. He stared at her over his Old Fashioned, agape. She pushed his hand down so that he put the tumbler on the bar.

"O'Hara, I…" His eyes traveled over her, from her still slightly damp hair to her high hemline and down to her creamy white pumps. He swallowed hard. "You look lovely."

She smiled, a little shyly, and reached down the neck of her dress - causing his eyes to pop slightly - to pull out the platinum pendant.

"I haven't taken this off all week," she confessed. "Not even in the shower. I suppose that's not good for the metal but I just couldn't bring myself to take it off somehow."

His voice was a hoarse croak when he spoke, and he had to gulp down some of the bourbon. "I'm glad you like it."

"I love it. And I think, just maybe, that I love _you."_

He choked on his drink and she had to slap him hard on the back before he could breathe again. She nodded toward the door. "Come on - my car's in the parking lot and I know you took a cab. I was thinking chicken marsala, some nice wine, maybe a little dancing?"

At best he looked confused. "Dancing?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know those lessons you took were for tap but you could manage a little slow dance, couldn't you?"

"_Slow dance? _Me? With…with _you?"_

The spiky-haired female bartender took his glass away and wiped down the bar. "The lady's asking you on a date, Dirty Harry. I suggest you take her up on it."

"A date? O'Hara, I can't…_we _can't…"

"Yes, we can. Yes, _you_ can. Now let's go - I'm kind of hungry."

"Eight eighty-seven," the bartender said. Silent, numb, Lassiter pulled out his wallet and paid up his tab. Juliet tugged on his arm and he followed her out into the parking lot. She folded him into the passenger seat of her VW and climbed behind the wheel.

"I hope you don't feel railroaded," she said as she started the car. "I don't mean to pressure you into something you don't want, I just thought that after everything that happened we could use a night out to get comfortable with each other again, and if you _wanted _something more, then, well…we could see where the night takes us."

"Where the…night takes us," he repeated slowly, and looked at her again. She knew he was wondering whether the lack of lines beneath the clingy fabric of her dress meant she wasn't wearing a bra or panties, and in fact she wasn't - and hopefully the restaurant would be nice and warm or she was going to end up a little bit embarrassed, even though she didn't mind flashing her high beams at Carlton. "Juliet, I'm not sure this is a good idea."

"Okay, I'm just going to ask you outright. Carlton, would you be interested in being my boyfriend? I would use another term for it but honestly I can't think of one that doesn't sound ridiculous."

He stared at her. "Why…would you ask that?"

She laughed. "Because I'm interested in being _your_ girlfriend, that's why."

His jaw dropped. "You're not…you're not _serious_…?"

"I am," she said. "I've been thinking a lot about you lately, and about us. I don't _know _that we could have something together, but…I really think that there's a damned good chance, and I don't want to miss out on a good thing because I'm scared to take a risk."

"But…but I'm…and you…you're…"

"_Carlton_. Put your doubts and insecurities aside for a minute and answer the question."

"I…" he blushed deeply and looked out his window. "I'd like to take that chance, Juliet, but not with your _career. _The last time I tried to have a personal relationship with a partner she got transferred."

"Vick chewed me out pretty thoroughly, Monday morning," Juliet said. "She wasn't angry that we'd had sex, she was worried that I might _use_ you for sex until I found another boyfriend. She told me pretty much outright that she would ship me out in a heartbeat if she found out that had happened, but she also more or less told me that I should consider a serious relationship. It makes me wonder exactly _why_ Berry got transferred, but it also makes me think that if we were open about it, and still managed to maintain our professional partnership, she wouldn't have a problem with us being together."

"Are you sure you didn't misinterpret her?" he asked.

"There wasn't a whole lot of room for interpretation, really. She just didn't say 'the two of you should get serious' outright. She was very protective of you, it was kind of sweet really."

Silence descended for a time while she drove, then, "Can I ask you…kind of a personal question?" he said.

"I suppose so."

"Why would Vick think that you would…'use me for sex?'"

"Ha. Because she's a perceptive woman."

"Pardon?"

She risked taking her eyes off the road for a moment to meet his gaze. "I wanted to have sex with you again, Carlton - _clean and sober _sex. She could tell."

"You…did?" he asked wonderingly.

She took one hand off the wheel to grab his thigh. "I _do_. I already knew that you couldn't be a casual hookup - Vick just drove the point home. It took me this long to sort out how I felt about the idea of being more than friends, with or without benefits."

"Don't you think, maybe, this is a little too soon for you to be thinking about starting anything serious?" he said, a little breathlessly.

"Please. I can't rebound fast enough from _Shawn Spencer_. I love you, Carlton - that's something I know. Whether I can be _in love _with you remains to be seen, but I know that you're worthy of it." She took her eyes off the road again. "I know you've been hurt in the past, Carlton, and I know it's hard for you to trust. I also know that I broke your trust in the past. Do you still have faith enough in me to give me a chance? The last thing I want is to break your heart."

"Yeah. Yeah, I trust you."

"Thank you for that," she said warmly. She pulled into the restaurant parking lot. "A little crowded. Hope we can get a table."

"We might have to sit at the bar for a few minutes but this place is rarely all that bad on seating," Lassiter said. They went inside and the maitre d' found them a nice, intimate booth at the back of the restaurant, with high seatbacks that cut off view of the other diners, and a padded bench seat that put them side-by-side instead of across the table from each other. The waiter arrived a few moments after they were seated to give them their menus, and the wine steward came to take their drinks order. Lassiter ordered a fairly expensive bottle of champagne.

"Carlton, white wine would be just fine," Juliet protested, but she was smiling. He shrugged.

"If you really want to do this thing then I figure we should do it up right," he said. "If you'd _prefer _white wine, though, then I'll change the order."

"I've never had champagne," she said shyly.

"Then it's time you had," he said decisively. The wine steward returned smartly with their bottle, opened it, and poured two flutes for them. Juliet raised hers.

"A toast?" she offered. "To new beginnings."

Lassiter smiled and raised his own glass. "I'll drink to that."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Not Completely a Cock-Up**

The waiter came with their appetizer and they ate shrimp cocktail and talked over their champagne. Juliet had always thought that champagne had to be overrated - what was the big deal about bubbles? She could drink a Seven-Up and get the same effect - but she had to admit that the sparkle and buzz of the drink definitely added to the flavor of romance. Carlton wasn't doing a bad job of that himself. He was, she knew, quite awkward on first dates, but perhaps because he knew she was already aware of his flaws he seemed quite free and easy on this one. Conversation flowed, and slowly warmed. It was a surprise when Carlton, smiling, leaned in, brushed her hair aside, and kissed her just below her dangling pearl earring, but it was a pleasant surprise indeed.

"Pearls look good on you," he said as his arm slipped around her shoulders. "And I like this dress. Angora?"

"I think so," she said, and leaned into him. He kissed her again just above her eyebrow and she shivered. "Keep that up and I won't want to waste time waiting around for our entrees."

"That _would_ be a shame, wouldn't it?" Carlton said, half-laughing. "We could always ask for a doggie bag."

"Tempting."

She held his gaze for a moment, until a commotion at the front of the restaurant caught their attention. "What the hell?" Carlton said.

They heard the maitre d' expostulating, and a lunatic voice repeating the word "duck." As the voices approached, they both recognized the lunatic. "Oh no," Juliet said. "Oh please, no."

Shawn Spencer bounced into view, peering into a nearby booth whose doubtless dumbfounded diners were hidden from their view. "Duck…" He turned and spotted them. "Goose!"

"Go. Away. Spencer," Lassiter growled through his teeth.

"Hey, Lassie, Jules. Fancy meeting you here, eh? You know, Jules, meeting Lassie at a bar hurts, but taking him out to a fancy-pants restaurant - in a make-out booth! With champagne! - is just adding insult to injury. I know you're trying to get back at me for…something…but don't you think you're taking it a little too far? You're wearing the petty-petty dress, even!" He made grabbing motions in the air with both hands.

"Sir, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the maitre d' said.

Lassiter slid out of the booth. "And I'm afraid I'm going to have to _make_ you."

"Do you need me to call the police, Sir?" the maitre d' asked.

"The lady and I _are_ the police," Lassiter answered. "Come on, Spencer. Time to go."

Shawn evaded his grasp. "I want to talk to Jules."

"Maybe she doesn't want to talk to _you, _have you ever thought about that?"

"Jules," Shawn said plaintively, throwing himself across the table at her, "come home, baby. We'll talk it out, whatever you need me to change I'll _change. _You've just got to give me a chance."

"I _gave_ you a chance, Shawn," Juliet said. "I gave you way more chances than I ever should have. It is over, Shawn, and I don't want to have to tell you again. Now, if you need yet another visual aid to how my feelings have changed, you're more than welcome to wait ten minutes or so for my dinner to arrive so that I can shove a plate full of chicken marsala in your face. I'm not here with Carlton because I'm trying to get back at you, I'm here because he's a good man, I love him, and I think we could really have something together. Now _go away_ and stop trying to ruin my life."

"But _Jules - "_

She half-rose from the table. "Shawn. Lassiter is going to kill you, and I am going to help him hide the body."

He stood up, squared his shoulders, and straightened his grungy old denim jacket. "So this is really what you want, then. _This guy - " _he gestured toward Lassiter " - and not me?"

Juliet nodded. "Yes, Shawn. _That guy, _and _not you."_

"Well, then. I guess there's nothing left to say, is there?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll say it anyway."

"That was totally unnecessary, Jules, but I suppose I deserved it. Goodbye. My apologies for the brouhaha." With a final, hateful glare at Lassiter which was calmly returned, Shawn left.

Lassiter watched him go, then apologized to the maitre d'. When he returned to the table he asked, "Do you want to leave?"

Juliet flicked the tail of an ex-jumbo shrimp, then rolled it in sauce and popped it in her mouth. "This started as a lovely dinner," she said once she'd swallowed. "I'd like to make an attempt to recapture that."

He slid back into the booth. "As you wish, milady." She stared at him. "What?"

"I'm pretty sure nobody has ever called me 'milady' before, at least not when it didn't sound sarcastic."

"I'm sorry. I know it's not politically correct, it's just…it's hard to break the way you were raised…"

"Woah woah woah woah," she said. "I didn't say I didn't _like _it. You don't make it sound like a belittlement, you make it sound…_chivalrous_. Chivalry is a nice change from…pretty much every guy I've ever been out with, and I _don't _think chivalry and feminism are mutually exclusive to each other."

He grimaced slightly. "Victoria always complained when I…how did she put it? 'Let my penis do the walking?' She didn't think it was possible for a man to respect a woman's strength and ability and still hold doors and walk on the traffic side…and all that stuff. I grew up _surrounded _by tough women - my mom, my grandma, even Lulu who, let me tell you, can throw a fast ball better than a lot of minor league pitchers - and I, the lone lowly male, was still expected to be protective and treat them as a superior species. I don't think Victoria ever really understood where I was coming from, but then, I'm pretty sure her father and brothers were the major driving force in her family."

"I grew up surrounded by boys," Juliet said. "Big, rambunctious boys. But my mom held the power of veto, all right."

Their dinners arrived, and conversation was held up until the waiter left. Lassiter appeared content to put the topic aside, but Juliet had never heard him volunteer so much information about his childhood and wanted to know more.

"Must have been tough, being the boy in a house full of girls. Your dad wasn't around?"

"Not much."

"So you were the man of the house."

He snorted a laugh that didn't have much humor in it. "My mom, as you may have heard, is a lesbian. She was all the man the house required. But, as I said, I was still expected to behave as if women were delicate flowers who, if they only wanted, could beat the living snot out of me."

"But never _did, _I hope," Juliet said in alarm.

"My grandmother gave me a good solid whack upside the head every now and then when I had it coming, but no, they never did."

She slowly chewed a bite of chicken. "It sounds like…you grew up at least a little bit terrorized." Though she tried to make it sound like a joke she knew that it wasn't.

He shrugged one shoulder. "They loved me. The way they treated me made that hard to see, sometimes, but it was true. Grandma was, in her own words, a 'tough old broad,' and the product of another age. Mom, I think, was always secretly just a little bit afraid of men. She didn't want me to grow up to be the kind of man she hated."

_The kind of man a woman couldn't dominate? _Juliet wondered. Out loud she said, "What did your dad have to say about it?"

"Not much."

"Lauren is quite a bit younger than you," Juliet pointed out, "so I know he had to have been a part of your life for _most _of your childhood, at least. You really don't have anything more to say about him?"

"Nope."

"But he was there, wasn't he?"

"Intermittently."

"You don't like him."

He put down his fork. "I don't feel much for him one way or the other, O'Hara."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to prod at a sore spot."He sighed. "I'm sorry if it seems like I snapped at you. It's just that I spend most of my life _not thinking _about my father and I don't see a whole lot of point in doing otherwise. If you really want to know, yes, my parents didn't get divorced until I was nearly out of high school, but they were never really a couple, either, and dad didn't spend a whole lot of time with us. When he _was _home, he never seemed to do anything except argue with my mother and yell for beer. For most of my childhood I pretended that_ Clint Eastwood _was my dad, if you have to know the truth."

She put a hand on his arm. "I know how it feels to have a deadbeat dad."

"Yeah…" He stared at his plate for a moment. "I don't mean to be whiny or anything. It sucks to be a kid and have to deal with a parent who just doesn't seem to care, but I haven't been a kid for a long time. I'm over it."

"You're not whining."

He stirred his linguine with his fork, clearly not terribly interested in eating it. "I'm sorry. This was supposed to be a nice dinner, and I'm bringing the whole thing down."

"_Shawn _brought it down, not you, and I shouldn't have kept asking you about what I knew was probably a painful subject. Lets have another glass of champagne and a change of subject. Let's talk…turn-ons. What's your biggest one? Legs? Boobs? Long walks on the beach? Weapons proficiency?"

He chuckled and sipped at his drink. "Okay, those sound pretty good to me. I'm not sure I've ever attempted to categorize my turn-ons in terms of effectiveness before, but if I'm going to be honest with you, _and _myself, then I suppose I would have to admit that what does it for me _quicker _than anything is hair."

Juliet laughed. _"Hair?"_

"I know, I know, it's shallow as a teaspoon. I can't help it, there's something about ladies' hair. I like the way it looks, the way it shines, the way it smells, and the way it feels."

"What's your favorite color, then?"

He cast a glance at her honey-gold hair and gave a little sidelong grin. "Well, that really depends on the lady the hair is _on_, and whether or not there's an obvious dye or peroxide job happening. But I can cop to a _slight_ preference for blondes."

She reached out and toyed with _his _hair. "I've always had a thing for salt-and-pepper, myself."

"_Ha! _The salt is _rapidly _crowding out the pepper," he said, blushing. "Dad had shock-white hair by age thirty, and mom wasn't far behind him, so I guess I'm ahead of the curve. So. What's _your _big turn-on?"

"Judging from the _one time _it's happened, being called 'milady' by an old-school gentleman."

He laughed. "Well, if you're really crazy enough to hang out with me like this, it'll probably happen again. Then you'll know for sure."

They chatted over their meals and slowly fell into that warm, romantic groove they'd been jolted out of by Shawn's interruption. By the time the waiter came around with the dessert cart they had developed an easy intimacy that boded well for the rest of the evening.

"Would you like something sweet?" Lassiter asked Juliet.

She gripped his knee under the table. "I've already _got _something sweet."

He blushed again. "I mean…would you like a piece of cheesecake or something?"

"I think I'd rather go back to your place for dessert."

"I think we'll take our check, now, please," Lassiter told the waiter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Let's Cuddle**

"I could put some coffee on, if you'd like," Lassiter said as they walked through the door of his condo together.

"I'd like that, but not until eight o'clock."

He checked his watch. "It's…eight thirty-seven now."

"A.M., not p.m."

"You…really want to spend the night?" he asked shyly.

She turned to him and pushed his jacket back off his shoulders. "Yes, I do."

He put his arms around her and leaned in to kiss her. She slipped her hands over his shoulders onto his chest and began to unbutton his shirt while his mouth plundered hers. They pawed each other hungrily. When his hands found the softness of her breasts inside the angora sweater he broke off the kiss long enough to say, "Yeah, I _really_ like this dress."

"So did Shawn," Juliet said. Even as the words came out of her mouth she knew it was the wrong thing to say. It was like dragging the needle of a record player across classic vinyl. He peeled his mouth off of hers and took a half a step back.

"Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean - " she began.

He put three fingers on her lips. "Juliet. I accept the fact that you and Spencer had an…intimate relationship. You've made it abundantly clear to _me, _at least, that it is now over. I'm not worried that memories of what you had will spoil what we might have together. I just…I wanted you to know that…I don't exactly have a great deal of _variety _of experience - " translation: he hadn't had nearly as many partners as Spencer, something she'd already guessed - "but I want to do right by you. If I do anything you don't like, or if I don't do something you _would _like, just…you know…_teach_ me what you want. I…want to make you happy."

She chuckled, a trifle bitterly. "Are you afraid you won't measure up? You shouldn't worry about that, Carlton. Shawn may have had a lot of partners, but he didn't have a whole lot of _imagination_, among other shortcomings. And he never had the consideration to ask me what I wanted, either."

She went to the loveseat and sat down, and patted the cushion beside her until he joined her there. She crawled half into his lap and snuggled under his chin - a calculated move, now that she knew his weakness for hair. "I didn't wear this dress for him after the first time," she admitted. "A girl likes it when her guy thinks she's sexy and wants to touch her, but I bought this dress thinking it was kind of a _wholesome _sexy, and his…_overly-enthusiastic _reaction to it, and the name he gave it, made me feel cheap. Dirty. Now that whole unfortunate episode in my life makes me feel kind of dirty. It was dumb - _I _was dumb - to ever get involved with him."

"You're not _dumb, _O'Hara," he said, fiercely. He plunged the fingers of one hand into her hair and kissed the top of her head. "Spencer is a snake. And your dress is beautiful, becoming, and doesn't make you look at all cheap."

"The fact that I neglected to put on any form of underwear might contradict that statement, buster."

"Well, it's not _that _easy to tell," he said. "Provided you're warm."

She snickered and wriggled on his lap. "I guess you'd better _keep_ me warm, then."

"With pleasure, milady."

She shivered, and it wasn't for show. "Okay, it's confirmed. That is now _officially_ my biggest turn-on."

"I hope I have a lot of opportunities to use it in future, then."

"I'm increasingly convinced that you'll be able to use it as often as you want," she said, and ruffled her fingers through his chest hair, making _him_ shiver. "I think," she said decisively, "that you should take off your clothes now, because I want to cuddle up to _you_ and not your suit."

He gulped. _"Wow," _was all he managed to say.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Afterglow**

Sleeping deeply, snuggled together in his bed, waking briefly in the wee hours of morning for a drowsy session of love-making. That was what it was, too - _love-making_, not merely sex. Juliet recognized the difference, and in what ways Carlton was superior to every other lover she'd ever had. He wasn't nearly as uninhibited as some, and he certainly wasn't all that self-confident, but he _loved _her, he wanted to please her, and he was apparently willing to take himself as far out of his comfort zone as was necessary to do it. Not that she was about to demand leather masks and nipple clamps, of course.

They fell asleep again and did not wake until mid-morning. He allowed her to shower first, refusing, for no _exceptionally_ good reason, her offer to share. When it was his turn he suffered a brief moment of panic before realizing that he was _not _looking at the first symptom of a horrible disease and, sheepishly grateful she was not observing, washed off the lipstick.

She met him at the kitchen door with a freshly brewed cup of coffee. She was wearing his bathrobe, while he made do with a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. She cast an appreciative eye across his bare chest and freshly-washed hair, wet but already springing into damp curls. "I could make you some breakfast, if you're hungry," he said, after a restorative sip of joe.

"Hmm, I was thinking more of going back to bed, actually. Although I suppose we should eat _something_, just to keep our strength up."

His blush crept down his neck almost to the thick bush of black hair that rode high on his chest, but he grinned. "I've got power bars in the cabinet next to the fridge."

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a bingo," Juliet said, and sashayed over to find a couple. She tossed him his bar as she leaned against the island counter with her coffee in front of her. She allowed the bathrobe to ride up on her hips as she slowly swiveled them and unwrapped her snack. She knew she had his undivided attention, his eyes locked in the trap of her sexuality, and she liked it that way. He came out of his lust-induced trance just enough to rip the power bar pack open with his teeth and take a savage bite.

She grinned, drank the last gulp of her coffee, and sauntered over to him. She finished off her power bar on the way.

"Has anybody ever told you that you're beautiful?" she said as she placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist.

"Er…that would be _no," _he said.

"Well, you are. Beautiful and cuddly and _incredibly_ sexy."

He smiled awkwardly. "I think those are _my_ lines."

She nuzzled his chest. "You're welcome to say them if you've found your motivation."

"You _are_ my motivation."

"Aw, see? Cuddly and sexy and _sweet." _She bit his nipple gently, flicked it with her tongue, and kissed her way down his chest and stomach to the waistband of his pants. He put his coffee down on the counter and gripped the granite overhang for support. When she had him where she wanted him, quivering on the bloody knife edge of orgasm, she climbed up his body into his arms. "What say we take this party back to the bedroom?"

He didn't speak, merely adjusted his hold on her and carried her back through the condo to the double bed, where he laid her out across the mattress and reciprocated the intimate affections she'd shown him. They rolled about on the bed, becoming entangled in the sheets, kissing and pawing each other in wild abandon. By the time they collapsed together, slick with sweat, panting and exhausted, Juliet had completely lost track of how many times he'd brought her to climax, nor was she certain how many times _he _had come - judging by her feelings alone, it might well have been a hundred times for each of them. She sighed in perfect contentment as his trembling arms closed tight around her shoulders, and she snuggled her entire body against the full length of him. She basked in the warm, rosy sweetness of their afterglow and breathed in the scent of his body and the love they'd made.

"I realize that I'm crazy to ask this and it's way too soon and all, but…would you…like to move in?" he asked.

_One date. Guess I made a good impression, _she thought with a mental giggle. "Carlton Lassiter, are you asking me to _shack up _with you?"

"Well, sort of, I guess. I mean, you don't actually have to move _in_, that would be silly…and wonderful…but I could make room in the closet for some of your clothes, and give you a bit of space in the bathroom for toothbrush and stuff."

"Are you waffling, now? Because I just got out of a relationship with a guy who couldn't decide whether he was ready to get serious or not, and I'm kind of over it."

"I'm not waffling, I'm attempting to keep from scaring you off."

"So if I said I was crazy enough to break my lease and set up housekeeping _right here, right now_, you'd be all for it?"

"_Ye gods_, yes."

"You realize, of course, that right this moment our judgment is probably just as impaired as if we were both falling-down drunk?"

"I suppose it is. Can't say I care right now, though."

"Just the same, I think we should take it slow. Lets take a nice, long nap, and if we still think it's a good idea when we wake up then you can follow me back to my apartment and help me start packing up my stuff."

"All right, but I'm warning you now - if I were _Rip Van Winkle _I couldn't take a nap long enough to bring me back to my senses."

She chuckled. "We'll see." She snuggled back into his shoulder and allowed herself to drift. It didn't take very long before she slept. She didn't know how long her "long nap" turned out to be, and she woke to catch him watching her. She smiled. "Well?" she asked him.

"It's your decision to make," he said seriously, as if their conversation had never been interrupted. "My feelings haven't changed."

Her smile broadened. "Then I say we get up, get dressed, and go pack. I want to be home before midnight."

"Home?"

"Home. Right here."


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: Whirlwind**

"The _bear_…is giving me the _stink-eye."_

Juliet giggled. "He might be a little bit jealous. When I needed to snuggle, I _used_ to turn to him."

She yawned, stretched, and cuddled closer to him. He hugged her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. "This is some sort of hallucination, isn't it?" he asked. "Right now I'm lying in a hospital bed with a bullet in my brain from the gun of some scumbag drug dealer, and as the trauma team works to save me I see _this_ instead of the white light and long-dead relatives other near-death whackadoos get."

"_No, _this is not an hallucination. _No, _you are not dying. _This is real_, Carlton."

"Well, assuming that's true and not just another part of the hallucination, then it can only mean that _you, _my darling girl, have lost your mind. I suggest you immediately make an appointment with a qualified psychiatrist, you clearly need to get started on some powerful anti-psychotics as soon as possible."

"It's interesting that you'd say that when I'm involved with _you_, but you never said a word about my being crazy, even in jest, when I was involved with _Shawn."_

"Because, even if I'd said it in jest, it would have done nothing but offend you. I figured I was doing a good enough job of that without it."

"You were looking out for me, best you could in the face of my rampaging stupidity. I appreciated it, even when you were annoying."

"Liar. And quit ragging on yourself."

"Only if _you_ stop, first. I'm _here, _Carlton, _we're_ here, and I'm not crazy or making a mistake." She rolled over on top of him and took his face in her hands. "This is going to work. I know that's kind of a snap decision to come to, after only one real date, but I've known you for seven years and I know in my heart that this is where I _belong. _Trust it."

"Then why did you keep the giant snuggle-bear?" Carlton asked, clearly endeavoring to give her the puppy-dog eye.

She burst out laughing and collapsed onto his chest. "If the bear bothers you, I'll get rid of it."

"Nah, I'm just a territorial male. I'll learn to share my hunting grounds with another predator - as long as he doesn't mess with me, 'cause if he does then it's on."

"Great. My boyfriend is going to wage some big vendetta against a stuffed polar bear."

"No, I was joking, actually."

"I know, Carlton. I was playing along."

"Oh. I might have been able to tell if I weren't still completely blown away by the fact that _your stuff _is here in _my condo, _which is no longer _my condo, _it's _our condo."_

"Blown away in a _good way_, I hope?"

"Oh, in a _very good way," _he said fervently. "In fact I believe I was blown in two or three _very good ways _tonight. I hope I managed to reciprocate."

"I believe you did, Sir."

"Give me a couple of hours and maybe I can give you a certainty."

She grinned, nuzzled his chest, and kissed him. "You're more than welcome to, but rest assured I was _certainly_ blown away. Three times, in fact."

"Not bad for an old guy, I guess. I'll try harder next time."

"Oh, you're welcome to try as hard as you want. Every time you top yourself we'll _both _win."

He smiled and traced lazy circles on her bare shoulder with one finger. "You know we're going too fast, right? Yes, we've known each other for seven years, but in that time you've rolled your eyes at me so often that I have real fears they're going to roll right out of your head one of these days."

"What woman doesn't spend ninety percent of her time rolling her eyes at the antics of her man? Of _all_ men, actually. Even at your worst, you're not that bad."

"Not that bad for a guy you spend eight to sixteen hours a day at work with, maybe really freakin' bad for a guy you then proceed to go home with at night."

"I'm not scared. Your off-duty personality shows definite signs of being considerably less eye roll-worthy than your on-duty personality, at least as long as I can ensure that you're nice and relaxed and thoroughly well-sexed - which I _believe_ I can."

"Oh, please do."

There ensued a brief interlude of heavy petting that ended only because both parties were thoroughly exhausted from a long day of sex and moving house. Juliet drowsed on his shoulder, thinking conversation was at its end for the night, until he spoke.

"We still don't know how we'll handle the whole…professional…aspect of this relationship," he said. "Or maybe it would be more accurate for me to say that we don't know how _I'll _handle it. Are you at all afraid I'll screw things up?"

"In what way?"

"In _any_ way. In _all_ ways. Even if Vick doesn't have a problem with the _idea_ of us being both professional and personal partners, it's going to take some finesse to convince her that we can actually handle it in a practical sense - and finesse isn't exactly my strong suit. Then, too, you know I'm probably going to get a bit overprotective of you. I won't be able to help it; I know you're a competent officer and tough enough to take care of yourself, but I haven't been this happy since…_ever, _maybe, so I'm going to get paranoid. _More_ paranoid."

"We'll sort it out. On Monday we'll talk to Vick, tell her what's happening. If she wants to split us up then I suppose she'll split us up, but I actually think she's got a lot invested in keeping us together - we _do _work together pretty damned well, if I do say so myself. As for your paranoia, well, we're partners, we're supposed to look after each other - you're just going to have to keep your paranoia in check enough to let us do our jobs."

"I hope I'm capable of it."

"You are. I have faith in you."

"That makes one of us."

She traced the lines of his collarbone and pectoral muscles. "How can you be such a brash man and still have so little self-confidence?"

"I lost half of it in the divorce settlement."

"Was that a joke?" she asked. "Because it sounded serious."

"Take it as a joke with a grain of truth."

"Poor baby. You've had it rough."

"Maybe a little bit, here and there. Things are looking up, though."

"Yes, they are, because I'm going to spend the rest of the foreseeable future making sure you're happy."

A half-bashful smile split his lips. "Likewise."

Eventually they both slept, and spent the next day together finishing the move from Juliet's apartment to Lassiter's condo. He offered to let her swap out his furniture for her own, but with only a few exceptions - small pieces like the jewelry armoire her mother gave her, and her wicker rocking chair - she elected to leave it behind. With a few brightly-colored throws and a couple of nice Moroccan rugs to offset the nearly monochromatic design scheme she found the place quite invitingly livable, even with the picture of the uzi sprouting a spray of flowers on the wall and the hand grenade-shaped candles on the sideboard. They finished in time for lunch, stuffed grape leaves and falafel at a Mediterranean restaurant Juliet liked, then settled in at home for a_ House _marathon for which neither of them really had much attention to spare.

"Four wrong guesses and a Code Blue," Lassiter growled during one of those intermittent moments when they actually watched the show. "Every damned time. It would remind me of Spencer, if Spencer was smart enough to be a doctor."

Actually, apart from his dishonesty and willful rebellion against authority and maturity, the cranky doctor with the gimpy leg reminded Juliet more of Lassiter than Shawn, although granted that was eliminating the better part of the character's personality. She opted not to say anything, and instead she asked, "You don't think Shawn is smart?"

"I prefer to think of Spencer as an idiot savant - emphasis on _idiot."_

Soon enough their attention wandered away from the screen again. "Nervous about tomorrow?" Lassiter asked after a long, leisurely interval.

"Not too bad. I'm less worried about Vick than Shawn, to be honest with you. I hope he steers clear for awhile."

"I wonder if we could ever be that lucky."

"Well, we're going to have to find _some _way to work with him, sooner or later. I just hope _he _can put his ego aside long enough to manage it."

"As pissed off as Vick was after he showed up at the station with McNab's bullhorn, we might not have to worry about it for awhile."

"I suppose there's no point worrying about it until it happens anyway," Juliet said. She yawned and stretched. "I'm getting sleepy. It's been a wild couple of days."

"Dinner and then bed?" he offered. "I could whip up a pot of spaghetti, or make us a couple of burgers if you'd rather have something quicker."

"Are you hungry?"

"Not especially."

"Neither am I. How about we just hit the hay?"

"Sounds good to me. I can make us omelets for breakfast."

"Green peppers?"

"You know it."

"Deal."


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Psych or any of its related characters. This is just for my own enjoyment and the potential enjoyment of other Psych-Os like me, and no monetary gain was expected or received.

**Rating: **T

**Spoilers: **Through season six finale

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Stephanotis**

"Yes, it was amazing. I can't believe how beautiful it was! And Sandy looked so pretty in her tartan and ghillies, with the wreath in her hair. You know, when Nana told me all about the 'traditional Scottish wedding' I'd have someday I was always so appalled at the thought of men in skirts and pipers playing, but I was really, really _moved_," Juliet said into her cell phone. Lassiter, chopping vegetables for dinner, wasn't exactly listening but couldn't help overhearing. Nearly two years after Juliet moved in with him he had at last pretty much come to the conclusion that it _wasn't _an hallucination, but there was still a little niggling doubt in the back of his mind. He'd heard of people whose psychotic episodes lasted longer.

The subject of her phone call, to her sister-in-law Janine, was the wedding of a cousin in Florida that they'd recently attended. "Well, you know me, always the rebellious one. But I have to confess, if I ever did get married I think I'd like a traditional one. _What? _Car -" Her eyes flicked to where he stood at the island counter over the chopping board. She stood up and went into the other room to carry on her conversation in a lower voice. He could still hear her, though.

"Our Chief keeps dropping not-too-subtle hints, you know, that it would be so much easier to keep the higher-ups happy if we were married, but you know I don't believe in marriage as a _contractual obligation," _she said. "But as a symbolic gesture, then yeah, I wouldn't mind a little ceremony, somewhere down the line. But you've met him, he's…skittish. Well, you know, he's had bad experiences, and then there's my ex-boyfriend to consider. Yeah, he's still making waves, every now and then. I don't think he still loves me, if he ever did, but he can't stand the idea that he _lost _to _Carlton. _Yeah, he's an asshole. No, it _doesn't _bother me, I'm perfectly happy with the way things are. If anything, he's probably still less comfortable with the fact that we're living together than I am, he's kind of an old-fashioned guy. Well, he hasn't _asked, _silly, that's why."

The knife slipped, and he cut his thumb. She came back into the kitchen, phoneless, as he was cleaning up the wound. "Oh, you hurt yourself." She hurried to his side and grabbed his hand. She took over the task of stopping the bleeding and bandaging the cut, then she kissed it. "There. All better."

"So how's Janine?" he asked.

"She's good. Nosy as ever - you know what she's like. She says hi, by the way."

"I was just thinking about Sandy's wedding. I don't think I told you how much I enjoyed it."

She laughed. _"Really? _Because I was under the impression that you were feeling like one out-of-place Irishman among all those kilts."

"I was. But it was a beautiful wedding."

She smiled. "Yeah, it was."

He studied her half-wistful expression and made his decision. The next day he begged off lunch and slipped out of the station to a nearby jewelry store. Juliet was somewhat peeved with him for the rest of the workday, but by the end of their shift her good mood was restored. "What do we want for dinner?" she asked.

"I was thinking maybe we go home, get cleaned up, and go out to dinner. I made a reservation for us."

"Really? Where?"

"Antonio's."

"Antonio's? Wow, that's a five-star restaurant. What's the occasion?"

"Just felt like treating you."

"Well, _somebody's_ getting laid tonight."

He grinned. "That wasn't my aim, but a nice thing to hear nevertheless."

"This is great. I'll wear my little black dress and my zircon earrings. Will you wear that sharp blue shirt and tie my mother got you for your birthday last year?"

"Of course I will."

"Oh yeah. In the words of the Black-Eyed Peas, I've got a feeling that tonight's gonna be a good, good night."

"I certainly hope so."

Dressed and primped, they were at the restaurant in plenty of time for their seven o'clock reservation. A nice dinner, fine wine, and good conversation carried them through to the end of the meal, when the wine steward suddenly appeared with a bottle of champagne. "Madam," he said, and poured her a glass. "And Sir."

"What…?" Juliet began. Carlton pulled a jeweler's box out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the table in front of her. "What is _this?"_

"Open and see."

She picked it up. "Oo, it's heavy." She flipped open the black velvet lid and gasped. "Oh my God."

"Do you like them?"

"They're gorgeous," she breathed, and immediately swapped out her cubic zirconium earrings for the teardrop diamond chandeliers. "Oh my God,_ thank you."_

"There was something else in the box," he pointed out. She pulled out the foam backing and found a silver dollar laying underneath.

"This is your 1850 silver dollar, isn't it?" she said in some confusion.

"Yes it is. I understand that by Scottish custom it's considered good luck for the bride to have a silver coin in her shoe on her wedding day, but Sandy only had a modern dime, which doesn't actually have any silver in it at all."

"Well, it's a beautiful sentiment, Carlton, but about a week too late. What's going on, here?"

"I just keep thinking about the wedding. Sandy was beautiful, wasn't she, with that wreath of white flowers in her hair?"

"Yes, she was. It was Stephanotis."

It was his turn to suffer a moment of confusion. "Isn't that the band that sang 'Magic Carpet Ride?'"

She smiled wryly. "Stephan_otis,_ not Steppen_wolf."_

He shook his head briskly. "Whatever it was, it was very pretty. In fact, I can think of only one way to make it prettier."

"Really? How?"

He left his chair and dropped to one knee before her. He pulled the diamond engagement ring out of his pocket and held it up before her startled eyes, soon brimming with tears. "Put it in _your _hair instead of Sandy's. Juliet…will you please marry me?"

The time between his question and her answer was little more than the fraction of a second, but to him it stretched out nearly to infinity. Then the paralysis broke, she burst into sobs over her ear-to-ear smile, and launched herself at his neck. "Yes. Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yesyes_yes."_

The other restaurant patrons applauded. Neither of them noticed.

**FIN**


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